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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap..)..... Copyright No.... 
Shelf._043 F^ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Bp IRobert Cameron TRogers 



Will o' the Wasp. A Sea Yam of the War 
of 1812 

Old Dorset : Chronicles of a New York 
Country Side 

The Wind in the Clearing, and Other Poems 

For the King, and Other Poems 



G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York & London 



FOR THE KING 

AND OTHER POEMS 



Bv y 

ROBERT CAMERON ROGERS 

Author of " The Wind in the Clearing," 
"Will o' the Wasp," etc. 



(sr 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 

?rbe fjiiicfterbocfter press 
1899 

I: 



2S( 36 



Copyright, 1899 

BY 

ROBERT CAMERON ROGERS 
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 

n/.'O COPIES REC-IVHa 



Zbe ftnickerbocliet fPrees, "neve ^orlt 






CONTENTS 



FOR THE KING 
CHARON . 
DOUBT 



PACK 
I 

28 



LYRICS FROM THE GREAT DIVIDE 

A BALLAD OF DEAD CAMP-FIRES 

THE TETONS AT DUSK . 

A PROSPECTOR 

A HEALTH AT THE FORD 

THE MAVERICK 



LYRIC ODES 



TO SPAIN 

TO GREAT BRITAIN .... 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
TO THE RIVER CONHOCTON . 
THE OLD BLACK FYCE 



33 
38 

40 

43 
45 



53 
59 



65 
69 



IV 



CONTENTS 



star-rise .... 
song of the east wind 
in absence .... 
to each man comes his season 
on a verse of rossetti 
sonnet — a song to sleep . 
in the garden 
love's cup .... 

THE steersman's SONG . 

I BOUND MY LUTE-STRINGS ROUND MY HEART 



72 
73 

77 
78 

79 

81 
82 
84 
85 
87 



FOR THE KING. 

' ' Chief among the captains was 
Adino the Eznite — he lifted up his 
Spear against eight hundred, whom 
He slew at one time. . . . And after him was 

Eleazar . . . and 
After him was Shammah. . . . 
. . . And David was in an 
Hold, afid the garrison of the Philistines 
Was in Bethlehem. And David longed 
And said : ' Oh that one would give me drink 
Of the water of the well of Bethlehem, which is 
By the gate ! ' And the three mighty men brake through 
The host of the Philistines and drew water out of the 
Well of Bethlehem and took it and brought it to David. 
Nevertheless he would not drink thereof, but poured it 
Out to the Lord. And he said : ' Be it far from me, 

O Lord, 

That I should do this : is not this the blood of the men 

That went in jeopardy of their lives V " 

2 Samuel xxin. 



FOR THE KING. 



Down the steps in the stone that rang 

To the smite of our feet — 
Through the corridors cleft in the rock, 

Past the guard on his beat, 
Under archways rude fashioned and low 

That echoed and sang 
To the jar of our shields — so we ran ; 

And the sharp brassy clang 
Of swords clinking loud on our mail 

In dim passageways, told 
There was something afoot for strong men, 

To the men in the hold. 

II. 

Up they sprang from their sleep, catching down each 

His bow from the wall, 
As we ran with the glint of a rising moon's glance 



FOR THE KING 

On our shields : 
Like a man in a trance stood the guard at the gate 

And let fall 
His half-leveled spear in a sudden dismay 

From our path. 
We were past him, away in the moonlight, 

And threading the fields 
Ere he gathered himself, ere we heard him shout after 

In wrath. 
So we ran, all abreast, breathing quick. 

With one purpose in mind — 
A draught of cold water to fetch 

From the fountain that springs 
In the steep street of Bethlehem, 

Hard by the gate of the town, 
For David our master, the Lion of Judah, 

Whose crown 
Was assured by the word of the seer 

From the King of all Kings. 

III. 

It was dark in the valley ; the opposite mountains 
Up-flung 



FOR THE KING 3 

Their black shoulders skyward as farther we ran 

Down the slope, 
And the moon was too low yet to cap them — 

In this lay the hope 
To cross the bare plain unobserved — 

So we ran in keen haste, 
Till, at length, as we halted an instant, 

The jackals gave tongue 
■Close at hand, and away in the dark 

To their homes on the waste 
They scurried in fright, and we knew we were close 

To the plain 
Where we fought at the noon with our foes ; 

Where the stiffening slain 
Lay unburied. Then forward, with breath coming 
deeper, 

We ran. 
Yet ever and ever again 

We would slacken our speed, 
As we stumbled and touched with our hands 

What had once been a man, 
But whom the Lord in his justice 

Had given to feed 



FOR THE KING 

The jackals and foul-feathered vultures 
And kites in their greed. 

IV. 

At last by the road that ascends 

To the gate of the town, 
We halted with common consenting 

And flung ourselves down 
To gain breath for a clinch, that we knew 

Was for life or for death. 
Then Adino, the Eznite, said hoarsely, 

Still catching his breath : 
" Eleazar and Shammah, my comrades, 

The time is but short, 
Still a word I must say. It is like 

We shall not all return. 
Hearken now : war has never to me 

Been a shudderless sport. 
I have looked in Death's face many times 

And yet never to learn 
To make light of my life ; — 't is God's gift- 
Shall I venture to take 
His gift as a thing to be lost with a laugh 



FOR THE KING 

Or for naught ? 
And to-night on this quest, with the peril of death 

Closer brought 
Than ever before, here I swear 

There was never a thought 
In my heart, of adventure for glory, 

Of foolhardy feat 
For women to cry from the housetops, 

The boys, from the street. 
I hold such the act of a fool, 

Nay I hold it as sin ; 
But to-night ye all saw the sad face 

As I saw it, and knew 
How the tide of the past and the wearying present 

Swept through 
The heart of the King, till at last, one by one, 

Down his cheek 
Slipped the tears — yea the tears, for I saw 

As I stood peering in. 



" Then — ye saw it as well — his great hand 
To his forehead he pressed. 



FOR THE KING 

Sighing deep as one sighs who cries out 

To himself, in his heart, 
* Like a wolf I am driven to cover, 

I seek a retreat 
In the dens of the hills, yea I wander 

Outcast, and apart 
From a people I served with my best, 

Who of old used to greet 
My coming with sackbut and song, 

And the cymbals' loud beat 
To the pulse of the voices that praised, 

To the dancers' quick feet ; 
And now like a beast of the hills 

I find shelter and rest. 
Is it worth all the struggle — to live ? 

And is living so sweet 
As the hush of the grave and its peace ? 

Nay, the Lord knoweth best. 
He will lead me beside the cool streams, 

He will aid, he will guide.' 
Then as though sudden thought of cold water 

Came to him he cried 
Quite aloud — though he saw us not : 



FOR THE KING 

* Oh had I now but a drop 
Of the water that shines in the fountain 
By Bethlehem's gate ! ' 



VI. 



" That was all— but enough ; after that 

Did I wait, did ye wait ? 
Were the heathen as sands by the sea 

Should they serve as a stop ? 
I hold my life dear, yes I prize it, and 

I who have faced 
An hundred and flinched not, count life 

Far too precious to waste, 
But the life that I hold from the Lord 

I will give to the King, 
God's soldier anointed. A murmur, 

A whisper, a word 
From him is enough. Ere I cease now 

I charge you this thing — 
If I fall, as I may, let me lie 

Where I perish, but bring 
This word back to David : ' His love was so true 



8 FOR THE KING 

That he spent, 
Thanking God for the chance, his heart's blood for a 
draught 

From the spring 
That shines by the town-gate of Bethlehem, 

Drink for the King.' 
Stark and cold though I lie I shall hear, 

I shall be full content." 



VII. 



The Eznite was silent, then suddenly 

Shammah spoke out : 
" Shall we leave thee, Adino, and bring the draught 
home 

To our lord ? 
Leave thee to the godless, the tribesmen of Gath, 

And the rout 
Of Anak's foul children ? — Not so — 

By the soul in my sword ! 
Shall it be, Eleazar?" I said : 

" God forbid it should be. 



FOR THE KING 



Die together or bring it together- 
The gift is of three." 



VIII. 



No word said Adino, but gripped 

Our right hands in his own. 
Then we rose and sped upwards, when with a low cry, 

Like a stone 
The Eznite stood gazing at each of us 

Panting behind. 
" We have brought neither flagon nor skin," 

He said hoarsely, and each 
Looked aghast for a moment, our fettered tongues 

Halting in speech. 
Then Shammah laughed low — I can hear him 

E'en now as I tell 
A story of years long ago — 

" Will not this do as well ? " 
And he took from his head the brass helmet. 

Abroad in the wind 
Of the hills his hair floated, — it was yellow 

And bright as the sheen — 



10 FOR THE KING 

There was moonlight at last — of the helmet 
That held it confined. 

IX. 

Just a glance, just a word — on we pressed, — 

There was need for swift pace — 
Turned a bend in the road — quickened speed- 

For the gate lay ahead 
Scarce twoscore of cubits — and lo — 

In the moonlight, the face 
Of a guard half asleep at his post. 

With a shout he was dead, 
By Adino's sword cleft to the chin, 

And our harnesses rang 
As over his body and under the arched way 

We sprang — 
And hard by the well we three stood — 

As the garrison woke. 

X. 

" Dip the water," I cried out to Shammah, 
For now a drum beat 



FOR THE KING II 

And a storm of smooth pebbles flew suddenly by 

In the air — 
" Nay," he laughed, '* I will fill from the spout 

Where the water is sweet : 
It is drink for the King, let it be a fair gift 

That we bear." 
Ah, too slow ran the stream — out upon us 

The Anakim came. 
Stark spearmen of Ascalon, 

Men of great stature whom Gath 
Calls in from the desert — they knew us, 

And cursed us by name : 
Ay, cursed us by gods whom we knew not, 

Loud panting with rage 
Whilst they hewed, whilst they thrust, but like swift 

Moving sickles of flame 
The sword of Adino and mine 

Held them back, keeping broad 
A path to the gate. We were wounded 

Again and again. 
But for each stroke or thrust we received 

We repaid it in ten. 
Yea they fell like the bullocks they slay 



12 FOJ! THE KING 

To glut Dagon their god, 
Yet they swarmed still the more to their death ; 

They would not be denied, 
They had crushed us perchance at the last — 

None too soon Shammah cried, 
As with one hand he put back his hair 

That was dripping and dyed 
With blood sprung from cuts by the stones 

Flung by men far behind, 
" Here is drink for King David," and sprang 

To the gate, and we too, 
Hewing, thrusting, and warding, pressed hard, 

Bleeding, panting, half blind 
With the salt of the sweat in our eyes. 

Passed the gate with a shout, 
Put Shammah nigh swooning between us 

And turned us about 
And sped down the hill, while behind us 

The blasphemous crew 
Of Anak came racing. Anon, 

If too near us they drew, 
We would turn back, Adino and I, 

Till we slew half a score — 



FOR THE KING 1 3 



Fresh meat for the jackals of Judah- 
Then downwards once more. 



XI. 



How we came to the plain with our lives 

Is beyond me to tell, 
How we climbed the steep slope to our refuge 

I knew not, nor know, — 
But the Anakim ceased at the plain 

To pursue us and fell 
To the rear, dreading ambush, and painfully, 

Faltering, slow, 
We climbed the ascent to the stronghold. 

About us they ran — 
The soldiers of David, wild-eyed, 

Full of questions, each man 
Loud mouthed with surprise crying this thing 

Or clamoring that. 
They had seen some one pass the gates early 

That night and had heard 
The roar in the City of Bethlehem, 

Yet had not stirred 



14 FOR THE KING 

To seek out the cause : to the captains 

They said, it had seemed 
The Philistines were fighting each other, 

And rat throttling rat 
In their den on the opposite hills. 

XII. 

So the multitude streamed 
Up the narrow dim passages, flinty and steep, 

Of the hold. 
And we still went the first, till, behind us, 

A sudden hush told 
That the King was at hand. In the gloom 

Just before us, he stood. 
And flame of the torches behind us 

Threw light on his face. 
He spake not in words, but his eyes — 

As, advancing a pace, 
He looked at our harnesses, riven and hacked. 

And the blood 
Mixed with dust but half dried on our faces — 

Gave order to speak. 



FOR THE KING 1 5 

XIII. 
Then each with a hand at his armpits, 

Adino and I 
Led Shammah before him, — his knees bending, 

Trembling, and weak 
With the spill of good blood — well-nigh spent — 

But a glance in his eye 
Like the flash of the soul in his sword — 

And the helmet gripped tight, 
His hair, on his neck, like a ripple of brass 

In the light. 
Then he held the helm out and he said, 

Clear and high : " Oh my King, 
There was rumor that thou wast athirst. 

Here is drink from the spring 
By the gate-side in Bethlehem ; 

Yea, and the helmet ran o'er 
As I filled it to-night at the spout 

While above me the might 
Of these, my two comrades, held Anak's wild 

Spearmen at bay — 
As we fought our way back to the hold 

Half was spilled in the way — 



1 6 FOR THE KING 

Yet 't is cool, — yea, and fresh, — small the gift, 
Would to God it were more ! " 

XIV. 

Then he lifted the casque and the King 

With both hands seizing fast 
Raised it up, said no word, as he stood at full height 

Calm and straight, 
But over his visage there came, from his eyes 

There outshone 
A look that I saw once of old 

Ere misfortune befell, 
When he came to the host that great day — 

That, the greatest of all — 
A ruddy-faced youth from his flocks, 

I beheld, I who tell. 
And stood by Saul's tent and was armed 

With the armor of Saul. 
Yea the same fire blazed in those eyes 

That had gazed calm and wide 
On the Giant of Gath coming down 

In his blasphemous pride. 
For a moment it seemed he would drink, — 



FOR THE KING 1 7 

Then another look came 
O'er his face that turned pale 'neath its brown, 

And his eyes lost their flame, 
And he turned and sank down on his knees, 

Poured the draught on the stone. 
And cried all aloud : " Oh my Lord, oh my God, 

In thy name 
I give this, the gift of my bravest — 

Far be it from me 
To drink of this draught, 't is their blood, 

It is thine, and for thee." 



XV. 



Then prone on the ground in the dust, 

With a sob he let fall 
That head which the Lord had anointed. 

And suddenly all, 
Adino and Shammah and I with the rest, 

Stole away 
Down the dark rocky passage in silence. 

Awe-struck at the sight. 
So we left him prone-stretched on his face and alone- 



1 8 FOR THE KING 

As he lay 
All about him the hush of the hour 

And the darkness of night — 
With the dust in his hair and the 

Bitter unsatisfied smart 
Of the thirst in his throat, and the glory of God 

In his heart. 



CHARON. 

I. 
Little have I for which to thank the Gods 
Save endless life to endless labor wed. 
While Time's slow heart beats out the ages, I 
Am bound to toil : — but for one boon to me, 
For one surpassing gift, I give Zeus thanks. 
For I have heard the sweet, resistless voice, 
The cry of passion, quivering through the dusk 
To lost Eurydice — yes, one boon more — 
That having heard, I found the source of tears. 

II. 

I too have wept, — but by no pity stung 

For pallid shapes that moan upon the thwarts 

And stretch their hands back toward the coasts of Life. 

Yet I have seen whom Death was loath to lay 

His bloodless palm upon ; the man cut down 

Before his harvest ; the new wedded wife 

Dead ere a mother, and the youth whose eyes 

Still found life good, and everywhere delight. 

19 



20 CHARON 

They touch not me. What harvest has been mine 
That I should mourn another's unreaped field ? 
No wife, no child is mine, and oft I think 
That I myself have never been a child, 
But have been from the first, as now I am, 
Death's ferryman, and next in age to Death. 

III. 
For them, no tears ; but when amid the rout 
Of dull-eyed shades that huddle round my barge 
A cowering shadow comes, and, when upon 
The farther shore the broad bow upward glides, 
Fares forth unmothered, to the gloom beyond, 
Some child scarce weaned whose tenure of the world 
Was reckoned by the months, who here must weave 
His slender thread upon Eternity — 
Who never saw the gifts that lie outspread 
To childhood, youth and manhood, — then, meseems, 
The symbol of my dwarfed and thwarted life 
Stands in my gloomy vision, and once more 
The wild self-pity clogs my throat, — once more 
The sweat is in mine eyes, — again the hour 
When first I felt hot tears — the hour whereof 
I speak — returns to me. 



CHARON 21 

IV. 

One unnamed day — 
No day is named on Acheron where all 
Alike are sunless, and alike are sad — 
I drove my boat from out the farther shore 
With one stout thrust, and for a moment stood 
Counting the loathsome fee Death's boatman claims ; — 
Coins reeking yet of fever-shrunken tongues, 
Some dull and rusty, silent witnesses 
To violence — and, I remember me, 
One bright — as though a m.other's thought had laid 
A shining coin upon her dead babe's lips — 
When, on the wings of one of those shrew winds 
That wail incessant down the coasts of Dis, 
Came by a voice — a song, a rhapsody — 
Sweet, wild, beseeching, desolate, divine. 
As though all music of the overworld were dead 
And this, its soul, swept sobbing to the fields 
Where one sad flower thrives unculled and lone. 
Then I was ware — before my senses ceased 
To do aught else but drink the magic sound — 
That Hell's hoarse turmoil suddenly was still, 
That Death's dim valleys lay before me mute, 



22 CHARON 

And in his kennel at the outer gate 
The triple-throated yell of Cerberus, 
Sinking to sullen mouthings, died away. 
The air, so live just now with strident sound, 
Hung listening — breathless for the time— the lips 
Of the black water round my boat were dumb. 
And I could hear what I ne'er heard before, 
The beating of a heart within my breast. 



There is a word I know, yet never knew 
Aught of its meaning — sound alone to me — 
Of human speech the word most often spoke 
In Hades, for it dies not with the dead. 
Even beside the pools of Lethe, those 
Who love, and loving die, have turned away. 
Nor stooped to drink ; holding more precious far. 
The memory of love's mingled cup that broke, 
Than those deep draughts that bring oblivion. 
Love, love, was all the burden of the song 
That held me, old and loveless, wonder-mute, 
And though unto my soul no message came 
Of love's deep meaning, of love's deathless spell. 



CHARON 23 

I knew immortal music filled my soul 

And half divined the power that sped the song. 

VI. 

So I stood listening, leaning on my oar. 

I had not seen that far into the stream 

The barge had drifted, and I did not mark 

That round about and all along the shore 

The noiseless shades had come, some pressing in 

Knee deep, thigh deep, yes to the armpits some, 

Heedless of those dark eddies. All were young, 

Or had been when Death came, and each one seemed 

Alone in some wild concourse of despair. 

None marked another's presence, — each one wrapt 

In single grief that mourned divided love. 

And seeing this, for yet my heart was hard, 

I shook my oar aloft and bade them back. 

When lo ! the spirit of the music changed 

And held me silent with a stronger spell. 

VII. 

To me it seemed as if some wandering wind 
Wet with the tears caught up in passing o'er 
A deep, unfathomable, eternal grief 



24 CHARON 

Had veered, and in its place had swept the breath 

Of perfect gladness and of pure delight. 

Love was the keynote of the singing still, 

But love in rapture, in the pride of youth, 

Filled full with all that Sun and Earth and Sky — 

The gracious Gods whom I have never known — 

Cast round their poorest children. Love, indeed, 

I may not fathom, but the chord of youth 

Through the long darkened chambers of my heart 

Rang clear, and into being surged and leapt 

The visions of a life denied to me. 

I who had never seen the world above, 

Had never known the bliss that boyhood knows. 

The young blood boasting in the heart, the beat 

Of pulses stirring with mere joy of life, — 

I whose keen owlet eyes with all their ken 

Find naught by gazing but the bleak expanse 

Of this dim river — sad-hued heaths beyond, 

The sulkn realm of Silence league on league, — 

I, whose dull, callous ears have never known 

Life's morning-music — whom the threnody 

Of this blind, sourceless river serves as song, — 

Like one who springs from sleep knew, heard and saw. 



CHARON 25 

VIII. 

The meadows first — then hills and then the sea 

Close by my feet in iteration slow 

Carried the burden of Time's earliest song. 

Then presently, I thought, a plover called 

From sandy sea-crofts, and about my feet 

In the warm grass the lesser symphony 

Of humbler minstrels rose, and inland, where 

The hills toiled up to grassy bastions, 

I heard a boy's voice and a pipe that made 

Cool interludes of sound 'tween song and song — 

And all at once I seemed, myself, the boy, 

And shouting ran and leaped and lightly climbed 

Along oak-shaded clefts to uplands where 

The great deliberate pines bent to the speech 

Of winds that urged in solemn monotones. 

Far down below I saw the rivers leap 

From height to lower height, until at length, 

All whirling pearl and amber, foam and deeps. 

They pushed to seaward through the level lands, 

And I lay prone upon a grassy ledge. 

The dipping sun-warm gold upon my hair. 



26 CHARON 

IX, 

Full-voiced the song swept over Acheron — 

And I had given for one such hour of youth 

My drear and hateful immortality. 

All I had never seen I seemed to see, 

All I had never heard methought I heard, 

All Zeus had reft from out my life, I knew. 

To eyes that never shone with boyhood's fire, 

And from the niggard fountain of a heart 

That only beat the undertones of life, 

I felt the sudden leap of blinding tears 

And flung me down upon the thwarts and wept. 



X. 



And as I lay — my hair flung round my face, 
The wire-locks dabbling in the gloomy stream 
That seemed to mock in pitiless amaze — 
I heard the grating keel, the barge swung round 
And lurching slowly, grounded on the shore 
That nearest lies to Life. 

Beside my knee 
The oar dry-bladed on the gunwale lay ; 



CHARON 27 

Unsteered, unguided, unpropelled by me, 
The conscious barge had sought the hither shore. 
The song ceased suddenly, and looking up 
I saw the singer standing at the prow. 



DOUBT. 



Slow groping giant whose unsteady limbs 
Waver and bend and cannot keep the path, 
Thy feet are foul with mire and thy knees 
Torn by the nettles of the wayside fen ; 
The dust of dogmas dead is in thy mouth, 
Yet down the ages thou hast followed him — 
Clear-eyed Belief — who journeys with light heart. 

II. 

The leaves of Hope about his head are green, 
Firm falls his foot upon the path he treads. 
To every day he suits his pilgrimage, 
And rest at dusk is his — complete and deep. 

III. 

For thee — the bramble : thorns of vain debate 
Harrow the hundred furrows of thy brow : 
Sleep is not thine — the darkness has no balm 

2S 



DOUBT 29 

For thy torn spirit. Deep into the night 
Thy feet that gain no guidance from the stars 
Press on, until before the silent tent 
Where deep and dreamlessly he lies asleep, 
You come with tired limbs to sink beside 
The ashes of his fire and find them cold. 



LYRICS OF THE GREAT DIVIDE 



31 



A BALLAD OF DEAD CAMP FIRES. 



Food for the horses — lots of it — upon the bluff, 
Sure to be a spring in a pocket of the hill, 
There in the deadfall for a fire wood enough, 
Here 's the place for bedding down — 

Whoa ! Stand still ! 

Throw off the saddles, untwist the hackamores, 
Loads off the burro and the pack cayuse : 
One shall wear a bell to keep the stock in ear-shot, 
Twist the hobbles round their legs and 

Turn them loose. 

Here on the spot where a fire crackled last year, 
Scrape the charry faggots off, kindle one anew ; 
Men and seasons out of mind each band that passed 

here, 
Lured by feed and water, stopped and 

Made camp too. 
33 



34 A BALLAD OF DEAD CAMP FIRES 

Sage-brush to kindle with, 

Quaking-asp to glow, 

Pine-roots to last until the dawn-winds blow ; 

Oh sraoke full of fancies, 

And dreams gone to smoke, 

At the camp-fires dead long ago ! 

II. 

Here used to camp with squaws and dogs and ponies, 
Long before the coming of the pale-face breed, 
Blackfeet hunters, Bannocks and Shoshones, 
Laying in their meat against a 

Winter's need. 

Warm in their blankets, weaving savage fancies 
Out of the smoke that veered above the blaze, 
Fortunate hunts, the foray and its chances, 
New squaws and ponies and the 

Head Chief's praise. 



War parties lurk on the trails to the hunting grounds. 
Treachery enters where the tepees spread, 
New scalps dry in the Absaroka villages. 



A BALLAD OF DEAD CAMP FIRES 35 

The lodge-poles are broken and the 

Fire is dead. 

Sage-brush to kindle with, 

Quaking-asp to glow, 

Pine-roots to last until the dawn-winds blow ; 

Oh smoke full of fancies, 

And dreams gone to smoke, 

At the camp-fires dead long ago ! 

III. 

Here later on came the man whose race is sped and 

gone, 
Born white, burnt red under wind and sun ; 
Life in the one hand, rifle in the other one, 
Traps on every creek in which the 

Beaver run. 

Feet to the fire, watching where the eddies spin, 
Pine smoke eddies, while the damp logs sing. 
Conjuring visions of mighty packs of beaver skin, 
Good for gold in plenty at the post 

In the spring. 



36 A BALLAD OF DEAD CAMP FIRES 

Trail to the traps in the creek at the break of day, 
No trail back — and the sunset is red : 
Two eagles wheel above the brush at the beaver-dam, 
A timber wolf is howling, and the 

Fire is dead. 

Sage-brush to kindle with, 

Quaking-asp to glow, 

Pine-roots to last until the dawn-winds blow ; 

Oh smoke full of fancies, 

And dreams gone to smoke, 

At the camp-fires dead long ago ! 

IV. 

Gone bow and quiver, lance and feather bonnet, 
Smooth bore and beaver-trap, buckskin jacket, all — 
Here is the stage — but where the actors on it ? 
Dead to our plaudits, and the 

Vain recall. 

Still one shall hear the coyote in the moonlight, 
Still hear the bull-elk whistle up the sun, 
Still the old orchestra carrying the tune right, — 
Oh wasted music, for the 

Play is done. 



A BALLAD OF DEAD CAMP FIRES 37 

We too shall act our parts on other stages, 
Spinning out fancies while the Fates spin thread. 
Heap up the fire then, keep the present cheery, 
We must hit the trail too when the 

Fire is dead. 

Sage-brush to kindle with, 

Quaking-asp to glow. 

Pine-roots to last until the dawn-winds blow ; 

Oh smoke full of fancies, 

And dreams gone to smoke, 

At the camp-fires dead long ago ! 



THE TETONS AT DUSK. 

I. 
The sun has dropped behind the range, 

The twilight saddens hill and tree, 
A moment now the world is strange, 

A shifting fairy world to me. 
The same terrain spreads mile on mile 

From mountain base to mountain base — 
But Nature wears her vision-look 

Upon a changing face. 

II. 
From early years, of sterner ways. 

On shadowy steeds — from Deadman's Keep- 
The spectres of heroic days 

Across a haunted twilight sweep. 
Soldier and scout, whose dust, perchance. 

Still drifts about the sage-brush plain, 

Keen hunter, eager emigrant. 

Start forth to life again. 
38 



THE TETON S AT DUSK 39 

III. 

A moment — and the silent band, 

Down trails that thread the wastes of Dusk, 
Ride back once more into the land 

Beyond the old days' yellow husk ; 
And like grim warders of the Past 

The Tetons loom, with shoulders white — 
Their mighty backs forever set 

Against the gates of night. 



THE PROSPECTOR. 

His feet have trod a thousand trails 
That thread the gulch, that climb the slope, 

That lead to hope that always fails. 
And yet, gray-haired, he follows Hope, 

He walks aloof where highways send 
The stream of frontier commerce down, 

From mines whose earliest dividend 
Builds one log store, and names a town. 

The mail-stage roars at swinging gait, 

The mule-trains pass with shambling trot ; 

Behind his own pack-horse, sedate. 
He sees them and he sees them not. 

His thoughts speed on before him still, 

His eyes are to the westering sun, 
He asks no odds of Time — his will 

And courage wait at twenty-one. 

40 



THE PROSPECTOR 4I 

He knows that Fate has put aside 
His right to plan as once he planned, 

Yet strives and will not be denied 
To unclinch Fortune's niggard hand. 

The mother, at whose feeble feet 
The golden dust he hoped to pour, 

Is dust herself — the hearts that beat 
Quicker for him now beat no more. 

Time's sickle keen. Time's vision old, 
Time's sands that mark each hour's span 

Are naught to him while flecked with gold 
The dusky pay-sand lines his pan. 

His buckskin horse, whose footing sure 
Might tread the bighorn's airy track, 

Bears all its master's gear, secure 
With diamond-hitch thrown round the pack. 

His wide untiring search has pressed 
Through lone Saguaches' ranges high. 

His pick has scarred the triple breast 
The Tetons heave against the sky. 



42 THE PROSPECTOR 

At morn he wets his waking lips 

In streams that join and wax and pour 

Beneath the far Pacific ships, 
Where farthest-west seems west no more. 

At night he cools his parching mouth 
In waters whose enlarging sweep 

Draws through the valleys east and south 
To where the Great Gulf's breakers leap. 

And still with ken age cannot dim — 

With heart that leaps toward trails untried, 

He seeks Success — who waits for him 
Beyond — beyond the next Divide. 



A HEALTH AT THE FORD. 

I. 

Broncho Dan halts midway of the stream, 
Sucking up the water that goes tugging at his knees ; 
High noon and dry noon — to-day it does n't seem 
As if the country ever knew the blessing of a breeze. 
A torn felt hat with the brim cockled up, 
A dip from the saddle — there you are — 
It 's the brew of old Snake River in a cowboy's drinking 
cup — 
At the ford of Deadman's Bar, 

II. 

" Now for a toast, a health before we go — 

A health to the life that makes living worth a try ; 

A long drink, a deep drink, it 's bumpers, Dan, you know; 

No heel-taps now, old pony, you must drink the river dry ! 

Here 's to her then — every sunrise knows her name, 

I 've given it away to every star ; 
Cold water in a hat ! Pretty tough, but what of that ? — 

It 's the best — at Deadman's Bar. 
43 



44 ^ HEALTH AT THE FORD 

III. 

" Where Summer camps all the year by the sea, 

By the broad Pacific where your widened waters pour, 

Old Snake River, take a message down for me, 

Tell the waves that sing to her along the Southern Shore ; 

Say that I 'm a-rustling, though the trail that leads 
to wealth 

Is mighty hard to find and dim and far, 
But tell her that I love her, and say I drank her health 

To-day at Deadman's Bar." 



THE MAVERICK. 

I. 

Where at Summer dawn the frost is on the scrub- 
Where the prentice-pine and quaking-aspen grow, 

Where the August night is bitter, 

Where the sow-bear leads her litter 
From the timber-line zigzag across the snow, 
I was foaled in the night, and the sound 

That I heard the first of all 

Was the lean coyote's brawl — 
As I lay beside my mother on the ground. 

II. 

She was bred to the service of the pack — 

She was vassal to the hobble and the cinch — 
By the brand upon her quarter, 
By the beaver pelts that bought her, 

She was bound to face her game and never flinch. 

And her pluck, I have seen it put to proof 
45 



4l6 THE MAVERICK 

When the band swung nose to nose 
If the black wolf came too close, 
Or fought oflf the mountain lion with the hoof. 

III. 

But her heart was broken long before I came — 
Break the heart to break the horse — a simple plan — 

And the brand, so naught could sear it. 

Burned its token on her spirit, 
Burned its legend of the masterhood of man. 
From the horror of the coming of the brand, 

From my mother who had weaned me. 

Where the kind buck-willows screened me 
I lay hidden — when they rounded up the band. 

IV. 

With a thunder of the stock-horse shod in steel, 

With the lariats that swung and whistled keen. 
Sped by oath and shout and laughter 
Went the band — the stockmen after — 

Down the trail, and left me crouching there, unseen ; 

And I lay till the fading of the light — 
Till the night-hawk lower drew, 



THE MAVERICK 4/ 

Till I heard the " Who-who-who " 
Of the hoot-owl's jeering question to the night. 

V. 

In the star-shine and the solitude I found 

Where the hill-trails of the elk herd twist and grope 
Through the forest's shag and bristle, 
Where the bull-elks stamp and whistle, 

By the licks that lay upon the farther slope : 

And I knew when I crested the Divide 
I had found the hidden home 
Where the wild-bunch breed and roam, 

In their shoeless, brandless liberty and pride, 

VI. 

In the morning when the mist was hanging low, 
Down a ridge and through a gulch I picked a way 
Where the black-tail deer were cropping 
'Mid the deadfalls — never stopping 
Till the sage brush spread before me, silver-gray, 
Till I saw the herd that all or none may claim — 
Saw the colts and brood-mares straying, 
Heard the watchful stallions neighing, 
Heard my spirit's kindred calling — and I came. 



48 THE MAVERICK 

VII. 

Through the feast-time and the fast-time of the years. 
Through the shift of fate and fortune, and the change. 

Void of curse of cinch and tether 

We foot out our lives together. 
With the whole broad mountain region as a range. 
So we live and so we dying still shall be 

Free of brand upon our haunches 

As the elk who bears his branches, 
As the wolf who drags us down at last is free. 



VIII. 



Life is living when the living is our own, 
Death is better in the wild-bunch than a life 

With a cowboy set astraddle 

Of a heavy Spanish saddle, 
And a bit and spur that mangle like a knife. 
Death is dying whether got of man or beast. 

And to feed the wolf is better 

Than to wait with foot in fetter 
Till the end shall bring the buzzard to the feast. 



THE MAVERICK 49 



IX. 



Ho ! the moon is slipping down the great Divide. 

Ho ! the bosom of the East is showing pale : 
And the smoke from camp fires drifted 
On the wind the dawn has shifted 

Warns the wild-bunch from the cover to the trail. 

Hark the beat of shoeless feet, hark, away ! 
For the sun at noon must find us 
Stretching out the leagues behind us 

Noses westward, to the other slope of day. 



LYRIC ODES 



51 



TO SPAIN. 

*'■ The Americans are a cowardly race." — Spanish Journal, 
April, 1898. 



We are not a warlike nation ; 

Here of old our fathers settled, 
Seeking scope for their opinions 

In the log-house and the hut ; 
Seeking elbow-room and freedom, 

Quiet men but solid mettled, 
Almost too religious, maybe, 

Sober-minded people, 

But : 

Since they wished to farm the meadows, wished to go to 
church on Sunday, 
And the redskin would annoy them with his lust for 
human hair ; 
From far Georgia to the South'ard, to the misty shores of 

Fundy, 

53 



54 TO SPAIN 

Flintlocks kept the plow a-going, bullets served to 
speed the prayer. 



We are not a warlike nation ; 

Though the blood we brought was ruddy 
We preferred its cheery runnels 

In the veins kept tightly shut : 
We had thews for farm or fish-net, 

We had brains to scheme and study. 
Brain and brawn for peace and quiet, — 

That was all we wanted, 

But : 

Ask the fields by sleepy Concord, ask old wrecked Ticon- 
deroga, 
Of the cost of unjust taxes and old bottles for new wine ; 
Something more than glass was broken on the heights of 
Saratoga, 
And the tax was paid at Yorktown by the stiff old buff- 
blue Line. 

III. 
We are not a warlike nation, 

Fashioned rather for keen trading. 



TO SPAIN 55 

Some will say the style is English, 
That from them we get the cut — 

East and West our ships went speeding, 
Decks awash from heavy lading. 

Bowsprits poked in every harbor. 
Never seeking quarrels, 

But : 

When our rich Levant trade came and Tripoli claimed 
tribute from it. 
Tribute paid by other navies trading down the mid- 
land sea, 
We, the least and last of nations, blew her gunboats to 
Mahomet, 
Blew the faithful to their houris, made the Straits 
forever free. 

IV. 

We are not a warlike nation — 
We had States to form and settle ; 

We had stuffs to manufacture 
Till the markets felt a glut ; 

We were busy getting headway, 



56 TO SPAIN 

Busy panning out the metal 
From the human dust that reached us 
From the old-world diggings, 

But : 

We could slow up for a moment, just to show our elder 
brother 
That the bird we put our faith in was not stuffed upon 
his perch ; 
And we told him through the cannon, in the sea fights' 
smoke and smother, 
We had searched the Scriptures duly but had found 
no " right of search." 

V. 

We are not a warlike nation — 

Peace sometimes keeps men's souls sleeping ; 
Some of us still sought a harvest 

In the old barbaric rut 
Worn by captive feet, till one day 

Party spirit upwards leaping 
Broke into a flame and blazed on 

All the startled nations. 

But : 



TO SPAIN 57 

When the smoke from red fields lifted, when the armies 
were disbanded, — 
Better armies, all the world knows, never cartridge bit 
or rammed, — 
Proud of their own deeds, and proud too of the men 
who, lighter handed. 
Fought them long, and oft-times whipped them, slavery 
was dead and damned, 

VI. 

We are not a warlike nation ; 

We love living more than dying ; 
We have little time for swagger, 

And the military strut. 
Let old Europe pay big armies, 

We have better fish for frying. 
We have better tools for manhood 

Than the sword and rifle, 

But : 

Since we are a Christian nation, since the blood our 
veins are filled with, 
Anglo-Saxon, Celtic, Teuton, will not keep forever 
cool 



58 TO SPAIN 

When we see weak women starving, helpless, ill-starred 
children killed with 
Filthy water, air empoisoned, just to eke out Spanish 
rule ; 
Since we find that Cuba 's Cuban, and the Spaniard but 
a tenant 
Who defiles the house he lives in, then our duty stands 
out plain ; 
We are masters in these waters, at the mainmast flies our 
pennant : 
End this hell on earth or hark ye : Eastward lies the 
path to Spain ! 



TO GREAT BRITAIN. 

November, 1898. 



Your name is large on every sea 
And your keels have underscored 

The title-deed 
That the world may heed 
How the deed runs, word for word ; 
No land so far, no pass so steep, 
But the threefold cross wins through, 

Yet we of the West, 

We love you best 
For the things you dare not do. 

II. 

Others there be who have strewn their road 
With the dust of a deathless dead. 

From the South, from the North, 

Their feet went forth, 
59 



60 TO GREAT BRITAIN 

And the blood they spent was red ; 
Honor was theirs in the harvest days, 
And the praise of the Just rang true : 
Till one by one 
They have dared and done 
The things that you dare not do. 

III. 

They talk in the North of a sword laid down, 
Of a peace with a world-wide lease : 

But what of the men 

In the exiles' pen 
Where death alone brings peace ? 
The " Peace on Earth " with a Jew was born — 
They have spurned from the land the Jew ; 

And dark at their gate 

The spectres wait 
Of the things you dare not do. 

IV. 

They talk in the South of the rights of man — 
They have done with the robe and the crown : 
But Justice pales 
At the clash, in her scales, 



TO GREA T BRITAIN 6l 

Of the sword that weighs them down ; 
They look abroad for the leaves of bay 
To cover the sprays of rue, 

And they drown with the drums 

The shame that comes 
From the things you dare not do. 

V. 

What seed is this for the lands that lie 
To the first stout arm rich prey ? 

What light of hope 

For the years that grope 
To the verge of a tardy day ? 
" Share," is the cry, " and share alike," 
But your strong sons ask of you, 

" Is it well to share 

With the hands that dare 
The things that you dare not do ? 

VI. 

The hope of the years is the blood we bear, 
Are we true to our breed, to our salt, 

If we leave undone 

The work begun, 



62 TO GREAT BRITAIN 

Though the North and the South cry ' Halt ?' 
The furrows we draw are straight and deep, 
And * Truth ' is the seed we strew ; 

With the hand to the plow 

To turn back now 
Is a thing we dare not do." 

l'envoi. 

The blood of the West is the blood of the world, 
Of a mingled stream come we ; 

But the blood that tells 

Of our hearts' best cells 
Is the blood we owe to thee. 
We stand to pay when the need shall come, 
With the best of the strain we drew, 

Lest the world hark back, 

On an outworn track, 
To the things you dare not do. 



i 

i 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



63 



TO THE RIVER CONHOCTON. 
I. 

No cradle mid the hills is thine, 
No upland pools where earliest shine 
The shafts of dawn ; field alders shrine 

Thy mother spring : 
From meadow marshes thou art sprung, 
From them the music of thy tongue, 
From them the charm that makes me young. 

To hear thee sing. 

II. 
The voiceful trees thy audience 
In part are gone — the old offense 
Of life lived out — the recompense 
Time asks of each ; 
Yet here and yon the sycamore. 
The elm and butternut spun o'er 
With wild-grape tangles, as before, 
Their branches reach 
65 



66 TO THE RIVER CONHOCTON 

in. 

Above the shallows' noisy sweep, 
Above the deeper swirls that keep 
A murmurous second, half asleep, 

To praise thy glee ; 
And out of sunless days that run 
Their untuned hours in the sun, 
From shadeless life to-day comes one 

To sing with thee. 

IV. 

Ah, clear brown water of the pools, 
Where mullets drift in lazy schools. 
And where the barred-back perch still rules, 

You know me yet ; 
For though Time's wanton hand may strip 
Man's memory-garden, tree and slip, 
Nature, in her companionship. 

Does not forget. 



And here of old I used to lie 

To watch with an half-dreaming eye 



TO THE RIVER CONHOCTON 6/ 

The checkered kingfisher dart by 

With shrill complaint ; 
And ofttiraes near me, undismayed, 
The whiskered muskrat dove and played, 
Plying his busy poacher's trade 

Without constraint. 

VI, 

The dearest memories too that throng 
The groves of Youth to thee belong : 
There seems a cadence in thy song 

Of soft lament 
For him who knew these shores with me, 
Who comes no more — nor such as he — 
There is a murmur of the sea 

What way he went. 

VII. 

No measured singing of the waves 
To keynotes struck in ocean caves, 
No distant hum of gusty staves 
On storm-winds blown, 
But that low whisper of the Deep, 
The breathing of the tides that creep 



68 TO THE RIVER CONHOCTON 

'Round beaches where the Greater Sleep 
Guards isles unknown. 

VIII. 

But here, where tripping currents ease 
Their speed beneath low-branching trees 
To gain in shady silences 

New breath to sing, 
Where every alder's dipping stem, 
Where every tree that shades thy hem, 
And where the hill that shadows them, 

Conspire to bring 

IX. 

Those memories that grow not old. 
Faces that Time must still withhold 
From blur, and all the manifold 

Affronts of age, 
The changeless boyhood in thy tone 
And Youth's spell-song about thee thrown 
Make me partaker of thy own 

Rich heritage. 



THE OLD BLACK FYCE. 



His mother was a nameless tyke, 

His sire a mongrel too — 
Short pedigree on either side — 

And no one ever knew 

How he came by the deep-set eye, 
The trick of nose to ground, 

A fyce in shape and color, 
In heart and scent, a hound. 

Ten seasons he has followed 

Wherever antlers led, 
From Saranac to Little Moose, 

Each swamp, each streamlet's bed. 

He knows the runways, one and all, 

He knows the salty licks — 

No stag in all the woods can teach 

The old black fyce new tricks. 
69 



70 THE OLD BLACK FYCE 



This morning let the young dogs quest, 

Bruce, Reveille and Turk, 
Three clean-run hounds of family. 

But puppies still, — at work. 

Away they bolt, as youngsters will, 
Wide range and noisy tongue ; — 

The black fyce does not tug his chain — 
He once himself was young ! 

He knows that last week's cover holds 
A clue that leads to naught ; 

He knows a day-old deer-track means 
But scanty food for thought ; 

He knows that puppies must be duped, 

Before they learn to know. 
Ha ! Bruce has picked a fresh trail up — 

Now let the black fyce go. 

III. 

He shakes his rusty doublet. 
His old tail raps my knee, 



THE OLD BLACK FYCE /I 

The chain from off his collar 
Clinks down, and he is free. 

Slowly he goes, old age and he 

Are coupled in the hunt, 
But Slowpace, running straight, will show 

The soonest at the front. 

Away they go — through sugar snow, 

Down slippery swales they yell, 
And urging on the flying buck 

The deep-mouthed echoes bell. 

Speed, White-tail ! There is call for speed ; 

Swim the cold pond-holes through : 
The old black fyce has found thy trail — 

And death and life run too ! 



STAR-RISE. 



Against the afterglow a bat 
Draws fleeting zigzag lines ; 
The fireflies swing their censers at 
A thousand aery shrines. 

II. 

The woody paths are dim and wet, 
The dew lies on the croft, 
And, like a glittering vidette, 
The first star rides aloft. 



72 



A SONG OF THE EAST-WIND. 



A SONG of the wind that loves the sea ; — 

The salt East-Wind whose seeking eyes, 
Gray as the mid-sea spaces bare, 
Peer from the rack of his floating hair 
That streams before him as he flies. 



A mile beyond the breaking seas 

The East- Wind met the Off-shore Breeze. 

II. 

" Thy breath," he said, " with grass is sweet, 
Thy hair with blown fruit-blossoms white ; 
The dew in the tree-tops bathes thy feet — 
Ah, would thy paths were mine to-night ! 

" For I am weary of mine own. 

No harvests deck the star-sown waste, 

73 



74 A SO/^G OF THE EAST -WIND 

And kisses from the sea-lips thrown 
Are like to tears, — and bitter taste. 

" Old nameless sorrows set the key 

Where ebb-tides draw, and flood-tides reach ; 

Where rollers sweep in middle-sea, 
And breakers bend along the beach. 

** Then give me title for one day, 
Thy slumberous fields and pleasant woods 

To tithe and spoil and kiss, I pray ; 

Ward thou, the while, my realm of moods, 

" Ah, let me twine about my head 
The rifled blossoms that you wear. 

Let dew, from orchard branches shed. 

Drench both my cheeks, and cool my hair. 

" And I shall hark while young larks learn 
The songs that sea-birds may not know. 

And I shall watch the sunset burn 
In lands where tall ships never go." 

III. 

A mile beyond the breaking seas 

The East-Wind found the Off-shore Breeze. 



A SONG OF THE EAST-WIND 75 

" Give back," he said, " my own to me, 
My realm untamed, that mocks at man, 

The changeless changings of my sea, 
New-born each day since time began. 

" Keep thou thy larks that sing remote. 
Too high to learn thy voice or will — 

My sea-birds catch their one wild note 
Close to my lips that whistle shrill. 

" Take thou thy blooms of bush and limb, 
Thy perfumes of the woods and downs ; 

Sweet is the jar, but at the brim 
Float foul the reeking lees of towns. 

" No scoff is mine for Nature's laws. 
Her fields wherein she roams unshod, 

But oh the city's stones and stains, 
The deeds that dim the eyes of God ! 

" Oh sea-lips lift for my emprise. 

Oh kisses salt along my cheek. 
Keen as the spray that bites and flies. 

But sweet to him who dares to seek ! 



76 A SONG OF THE EAST -WIND 

" Oh shifting meadows always green, 
Oh leaping hills, that sing with me, 

Great heart, world-wide, forever clean, 
I come once more. 

Give back my sea ! " 



IN ABSENCE. 



The sky is blue, is blue, to-day, 
The landward hills are green, men say 
I do not know, I cannot see, 
For I am blind, away from thee. 



Men say the breakers stoop and run 
Loud laughing in the noonday sun : 
I do not know, I cannot hear. 
For I am deaf, save thou art near. 

III. 

The coverts of the live-oaks sing, 
Men say, with tuning notes of Spring 
For me Spring is not yet — thou art 
The absent April of my heart. 



77 



TO EACH MAN COMES HIS SEASON." 



To each man comes his season : for so long 

The little years ran laughing by I too 

Came to hold laughter for the only due 

Life claimed of me : that mixing in the throng 

I too might drift whither such years belong : — 

The meadows where no harvest ever stood — 

The broad unfruited orchard solitude — 

The languid woodlands where no bird has song. 



Then came a year of flame whose eager fire 
Consumed all little hopes and lit all great, 
Blazing across the hill paths hard to climb, 
Rough hewn among the cliffs of high desire, 
And bade me seek where late-grown harvests wait 
Secure along the unreaped slopes of Time. 



78 



ON A VERSE OF ROSSETTI. 

" A little while a little love 

May yet be ours who have not said 
The word it makes our eyes afraid 
To know that each is thinking of. 
Not yet the end : be our lips dumb 
In smiles a little season yet : 
I '11 tell thee when the end is come 
How we may best forget." 

D. G. ROSSETTI. 



I KNOW thy mandates, Love ; none more than I 
Have been thy witness and thy willing slave. 

And yet for all its power I testify 

Thy hand cannot withdraw the gift it gave. 

II. 

Thou bad'st me hold a purpose half forgot 

Dear, since she held it dear ; thou taught'st me this. 

To shun all paths in which her feet are not. 
To set against the fallow years, her kiss, 
79 



8c ON A VERSE OF ROSSETTI 

III. 

Thou bid'st me come or go — I come or go, 
So strong thy magic to compel, and yet 

With all thy vast puissance well I know 

Thou canst not learn, or teach, the word *' forget." 



SONG TO SLEEP. 



Since none may kiss her eyes, save Sleep and I, 
Sleep holds himself my rival, and to-night, 
Jealous of that he deems his sovereign right, 
He will not look on me as he glides by. 
What matter then ! his malice I defy — 
I 'II dream awake until the waking light, 
Dreams winged with longing sent in Sleep's despite, 
To haunt her chamber till the dark hours fly. 

11. 

Sleep, should thy languid kiss her eyelids seal. 
Then she will dream and dream alone of me — 
But if to kiss them haply shouldst decline, 
Her waking thoughts across the night will steal 
To meet with mine. Ah, Sleep, unknown to thee, 
I shall prevail whichever path is thine. 



8i 



IN THE GARDEN. 



" Is still the night ? " "I do not know." 
" Comes dawn ? " "I do not care. 

I only see the golden glow 
That floats about thy hair." 

II. 

" Do stars still drop from dreaming skies 
Their love-lights to the sea ? " 

" Oh, ask me not, who watch thine eyes, 
The only stars for me." 

III. 

" What whispers through the garden steal, 
Does night, or dawn-wind speak ?" 

" How should I know who only feel 
Thy breath against my cheek ? " 



IN THE GARDEN 83 



IV. 



" Not ours to watch Time's shuttles spin: 

My lips on thine let be : 
Time is not — Time is lost within 

Our love's eternity." 



LOVE'S CUP. 

Life's richest cup is Love's to fill — 

Who drinks, if deep the draught shall be, 

Knows all the rapture of the hill 

Blent with the heart-break of the sea. 

Oh tired wings that trail the ground ! 

Oh sudden flight to worlds above ! 
Oh thorns among the roses bound 

About the brows of those who love ! 



THE STEERSMAN'S SONG. 

The fore-shrouds bar the moonlit scud, 

The port-rail laps the sea — 
Aloft all taut, where the wind clouds skim, 
Alow to the cutwater snug and trim, 

And the man at the wheel sings low ; sings he — 
" Oh sea-room and lee-room 
And a gale to run afore. 
From the Golden Gate to Sunda Strait, 
But my heart lies snug ashore." 

Her hull rolls high, her nose dips low. 

The rollers flash alee — 
Wallow and dip and the uptossed screw 
Sends heart-beats quivering through and through — 
And the man at the wheel sings low ; sings he — 
** Oh sea-room and lee-room 
And a gale to run afore — 
Sou'east by South and a bone in her mouth, 

But my heart lies snug ashore." 

85 



86 THE STEERSMAN'S SONG 

The steersman's arms are brown and hard, 

And pricked in his fore-arms be 
A ship, an anchor, a love-knot true, 
A heart of red and an arrow of blue ; 

And the man at the wheel sings low ; sings h< 
" Oh sea-room and lee-room 
And a gale to run afore — 
The ship to her chart, but Jack to his heart, 
And my heart lies snug ashore." 



SONG. 

I BOUND my lute-strings round my heart 

Grown silent long ; 
And still as a forgotten art, 

Slumbered my song. 

Thy praise, not mine, should favor come 

My songs to seek ; 
Thou found'st a dreamer, idly dumb— 

And bade him speak. 

I bound my lute-strings round my heart, 

Poor voiceless things — 
But thou and Love played well your part, 

And touched the strings. 



87 



MAR 29 1899 



nil i 



